


after a year like this

by orphan_account



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: ;), Birthday, Candles, Drabble, Drunkenness, Happy Ending, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, M/M, Robert Sugden Birthday Challenge, ehehe present, kind of delves into his past as well as the present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:44:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6583669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Robert's birthday, and he decides that maybe it's time to tie up a few loose ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	after a year like this

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the birthday challenge!
> 
>  _Italics show a flashback to the birthday party._  
>  Normal text is the present.

Robert's been sitting by candlelight for a few hours now. In dim pink light from cheaply-coloured birthday candles that dyes the atmosphere the colour of raspberries.

It's nearing midnight; his first day as a thirty year old is hanging by a razor's edge, ticking away with each rotation of the clock hand. Thirty.  _Fuck._ He's getting on a bit. If you'd told him ten years ago that in a decade he'd be back in this village, slumped into the arms of the Woolpack's sofa, balancing on the edge of intoxication and surrounded by his family (granted, his family are all asleep now, curled up in bed in their own houses, but they're  _there_ , and he can feel them), he'd have taken another line of coke and laughed in your face. If you'd told him that he'd be in a new but undeniably loving relationship, he'd have copped off with some random bird or fella and come out with some spiel of how love is a waste of time and energy. If you'd told him that he'd be happy, he'd have lied through his teeth and spit back that he's happy now.

The remnants of a celebration are left out on the dining room table: a circle of empty plates littered with crumbs and the remainder of a home-made birthday cake sat in the centre, smothered in chocolate icing and pierced with a handful of candles, wicks blackened and wilting. Most of the cake has been hacked out and eaten, given to the guests at this surprise party, and the few remaining slices are barely edible slivers, staled by the heat of the room. It's a somewhat depressing view - the light and cheers have passed, leaving behind an array of ageing, unusable items that have served their purpose and gone - but maybe it's just the whiskey talking.

Birthday whiskey - apparently funded for by Adam, though obviously requested by Victoria. One of the best bottles in the Woolpack's inventory, set aside for Robert on this very special occasion, probably begrudgingly by Chas; it was supposed to last a while, but in the past hour, Robert's drained a decent portion of the contents. He can feel it coursing through his system and clouding his head, but fuck it, it's his  _birthday._ He can do what he likes.

Robert's never really been one to celebrate his birthday. Usually it passes without incident, due to his adamant refusal to mention it, but this year the lightbulb illuminated in Victoria's brain during a casual conversation about a party she'd attended over the weekend. Robert was perched at the bar with Aaron, sipping from a pint and smirking at Chas' snipes towards Charity when he overheard her. 

_"Wait, when's Robert's birthday?" she suddenly pipes up, brow furrowing in thought as Robert's eyes close. Please don't remember... "Oh god, Adam, it's next week! What are we gonna do?"_

Victoria has a habit of losing any sort of vocal filter when she's excited about something.

Ever since then, she's been embedding little questions in her words whenever she speaks to him, aiming for subtle but missing the mark totally; enquiring about what type of music he likes, what he's getting up to this Friday, even bringing up previous birthdays during the rare civil moments he spends nattering with Andy (his little sister have developed some sort of radar for those moments, as she always leaps into the conversation to enjoy them before they inevitably turn sour) and shooting stern little glances at Aaron, who sits and smirks at the side. Aaron totally knew - whether or not he was going to make a big deal out of it as well, Robert wasn't sure. To be honest, he'd have been perfectly happy spending his birthday in Barbados with his boyfriend (that word still tastes strange on his tongue, unfamiliar. Not in a bad way, though) by his side, but then Liv turned up, and things fell a little crooked.

He'd like to say he's happy that Liv's here, and he is - for Aaron's sake. He's never seen Aaron smile so bright since the little devil came along, and since his smile is akin to seeing a miracle occur before his very eyes, Robert's willing to put up with Liv's antics for a little while longer, with the help of aspirin tablets and early nights. Besides, if she carries on the way she does now, she'll be in juvie by the time she's sixteen and they'll finally get some peace. There are times he feels brushed aside, and dare he say, stuck in second place again, but then he reprimands himself for being childish and feeling inferior to a fourteen year old girl; having a troublesome teenager on his hands twenty-four-seven is always going to take priority, and as big of a pill as it is to swallow, it's not like Robert has much of a choice. Grin and bear it, and all that.

Occasionally it all feels a little like deja vu, like it's a cycle he's run through before.

But then he just buries it down beneath a pint or two. He's been doing it long enough for it to stop feeling so present in his throat.

 _Huh. Present._ He didn't get any this year, not that he's complaining, considering that he wasn't expecting anything in the first place. Actually, the surprisingly fun day he's had with his family has been a pretty decent gift in itself.

 

* * *

 

  2 missed calls  
  6 new texts  
  
    Victoria Sugden  
    Victoria Sugden  
    Victoria Sugden  
    Vic-

 _  
_ _Robert sighs. His phone has been buzzing relentlessly for the past ten minutes, trembling on the desk of the Portacabin, and with the paperwork he's been immersed in is finally complete, he checks the device with the silent prayer that whatever the reason is for the texts, it isn't birthday-related; when he spots Vic's name, he deflates with indifference. She couldn't be subtle if her life depended on it. Any other day he'd have leapt at the sight of rapid, frantic texts from his little sister, but not today._

 _He knows he's being selfish, but the lack of excitement causes him to do a round of the Portacabin, tidying everything up and rearranging documents before the entire place is spotless and there's nothing left to do_ but _check his phone. When he does, he's greeted with a series of repetitive messages, getting more and more urgent as they go on._

Hey Rob, can u come to the woolpack asap please?  
    Rob, we need u at the pub. Can you get here?  
    Rob, are u getting my texts? 

_There's clearly something waiting for him at the pub, and the timestamp next to the first text guilts him, as he doesn't want to think of his sister pacing the back room of the Woolpack, frantically texting him and begging him to show up. He's not cruel enough to leave her there either, as much as he doesn't want a big fuss like the one he's expecting. Maybe it'll be a surprise, and she won't have gone all out._

_He scoffs to himself. Chance would be a fine thing._

 

* * *

 

Liv's awake. Robert can hear her footsteps crossing the floor of her room above his head, dull thuds vibrating through the ceiling.

Apart from that, the pub is deathly quiet, and it's a peculiar feeling; Robert's so used to noise here, a constant hum of activity, whether that be clinking glasses and conversation or rising voices coming from the bar or pots being cleared away or Charity dropping something and the smash of the pottery eliciting an instant cheer from the punters. It's only ever been this quiet when he's stayed over, curled up next to Aaron in a bed that's far too small for the two of them but they don't care, or when he's kipped on the couch in desperation, or when someone's died.

He checks his phone for the time, and, half-blinded by the brightness of the screen, sees that's it just gone half past eleven at night. Half an hour left to savour his first day of being thirty, before he starts to feel his youth drain away like the whiskey in the bottle beside him. 

(Okay, maybe he's being a tad dramatic, but it's his birthday. He's allowed to be.)

There's a picture of Aaron as his background, originally just a portion of a group photograph of them, taken earlier in the day, sent to him by Victoria that he cropped down to the person who matters most. He looks so soft and innocent, wearing a genuine smile that reaches his eyes and fills them with light; the neckline of the burgundy jumper slouches across his broad shoulders, the clothing for someone a little taller and lankier than him - that person being Robert. They've only recently made a habit of sharing clothes, and that sprouted from when they overslept one day and Aaron ended up grabbing and shrugging on the wrong jumper that was sprawled across the floor. Neither of them noticed until later on that day in the Portacabin, and even then Robert insisted that Aaron keep it, as it looks infinitely better on him. Chas noticed when they got back to the Woolpack, and when Aaron replied to her questions with a casual "yeah" and a shrug, she just smirked and turned back to her bar work. Robert's sure her smile stayed on for a good few minutes afterwards.

He finds himself staring at the photo for a minute or two, eyes wandering over the features and all the little details that Robert loves - the permanent little furrow of his forehead, the alcohol-induced flush of his cheeks, the sparkle in his eyes. Robert's so lucky. He doesn't deserve what he's got.

Now he thinks of it, Robert's phone is a bit of a treasure trove; it houses numbers and contacts he probably should have deleted by now, ones that lead to unethical purposes and illegal deals and years from his past he'd rather forget, but even in this hazy drunken state, he can't bring himself to do it. Call it sentimental ties, call it him being weak, but there's people behind those numbers who've been there next to him back in the day, and even after they've all gone their separate ways (some more positive than others), he's not willing to forget them just yet.

There's the speed-dial contacts, ones he deems the most important - Aaron, Victoria, Andy, Adam, Chas and a few work colleagues - but below that, there's a swamp of names and initials that Aaron won't recognise, and that's probably for the best, as they're all pretty shady; James, Clive, Lydia, Johnny, Connor.  _Connor._ Robert still struggles to believe that  _that_ baby face reared its head up again at his command just last year, for the first time in longer than Robert cares to remember. The fact that Connor agreed to help and came running amazes him even more. It feels like only yesterday that they were hanging out on Leeds street corners, drinking cheap cider and awaiting business to approach them.

His fingers hover over Connor's name, shaky and hesitant.

 _You up?_ He finds himself typing, the blue bubble appearing in a flash. Just three minutes later, the dreaded three dots appear, and Robert wonders if maybe he  _has_ had too much to drink tonight.

 _texting me at all hours of the night? tut tut, what would the wife think ;)_ is the surprisingly, yet pleasantly casual response, and it triggers a dopey grin to cross Robert's face; they've not spoken in months, as proven by the wife comment, and yet here they are, conversing freely and flirtatiously like it's an everyday occurrence.

 _Hilarious. I'm not with Chrissie any more._ Robert's always been one to text in perfect grammar. Even his intoxicated brain refuses to demote himself to text-speech.

_oh dear... do i want to ask? :(_

_I'm happier now._ Robert taps out, chewing unconsciously on his bottom lip as he squints to stop his eyes from watering at the harsh light.  _I'm in a better place.  
_

_but home farm was so lovely :(_ Robert can practically see Connor smirking on the other end of the phone, clearly taking the piss, but also probably wearing the crooked smile that makes him look as soft as his hair. Before he has a chance to text back, another grey bubble pops into the screen, claiming dominance. _you_ _finally came out?_

_Yeah, you could say that._

_i'm happy for you x_ The humour's gone now, replaced with honesty, and it clicks with Robert that if Connor is following his usual Friday night routine, he's probably just as drunk as he is. Yes, Robert is literally drunk-texting his ex right now. Who'd have thought it?  _is there a reason you're texting me at this time?_

 _It's my birthday._  

_oh shit... happy birthday mate. how old are you?_

_Don't make me say it._

_how old are you? :P_

_30._

_fucking hell you're getting old._ Robert chuckles, loosened and  _laughing_ because as much as it sounds damning to think about himself, hearing someone else say it certainly helps lifts the weight from his shoulders. He's not that scruffy, twenty year old couch-surfer any more, working his way round the Leeds prostitution scene and snorting down lines of coke in the back of dingy nightclubs. He's a thirty year old man who owns shares in businesses, and he has - dare he jinx it - a  _family._

_Tell me about it._

_weren't you like twenty five when i first met you?_ Robert barely remembers his first meeting with Connor; he was smashed out of his head at the time. He remembers ginger hair and a flash of green eyes, a clumsy exchange of words, a quick fumble in the dark.

_Yeah, and you were about twelve. Or you looked it, at least._

There's a short pause, a disrupt in the flow, before a text pops up with a quiet buzz.

_we had some good times, didn't we? x_

_Yeah, we did. :)_

As many of the years of his youth that Robert drank and partied away, enveloped in a cocoon of razor-sharp vodka and hallucinogenics, he can't deny that maybe, just maybe, he enjoyed the living hell out of most of it. Even the days where he struggled home with bloody knees and scraped shoulders and black eyes and a plugged head, crawling back to whatever couch or floor or bed he was sleeping in, he loved it. He'd never go back to it, not in a million years - not now he knows what stability feels like, and what falling asleep next to someone he loves (truly loves, not drug-loves, because Robert never wants to _want_ anything like he wanted drugs back in the day; that's never healthy) feels like, and his sober, educated self is aware of the consequences - but he can't deny that yes, they were good times.

He texts goodnight to Connor and sinks further into the arms of the couch, the satisfaction of closure always a delicacy.

 

* * *

 

_When he arrives at the bar, everything seems normal. Charity is darting around, doing work for once as she fills glasses with cloudy liquids and hands them over to the customers; Rhona and Vanessa are tucked into a corner booth, looking a little too close to be just friends (they've apparently got history, according to the village gossip); Zak is cuddled up to Joanie, an image that still looks completely alien without Lisa. It's midday, most of the customers on lunch break and tucking into plates of Marlon's finest, but the lack of Aaron sipping a pint or Victoria dishing out plates catches his attention fairly quickly._

_Chas emerges from the back corridor, grimacing comically at Charity and Ross' not-so-subtle flirting over the bar, before she sees Robert and startles._

_"Robert," she approaches him with a grin - that's when he knows something's up - and gestures behind her. "Vic wants to see you in the back room."_

_"Yeah, I know," he nods, holding up his phone that's bright with text alerts, before making his way through the bar and into the back corridor. He pauses outside the infamous living room door, takes a breath, and heads inside._

_There's a small congregation of familiar faces spread out across the room, their hands busy with plates of food or cradling drinks, and everything draws to a sudden halt when they hear the door open and see the birthday boy walk in; Victoria's near the dining table, hair slightly frayed from non-stop darting about for the past hour, but nonetheless looking like a porcelain doll in the flesh. She freezes like everyone else, eyes like a deer caught in the headlights, before she registers that her brother's here and the biggest smile breaks out across her face._

_"Happy birthdayyyy!" she sings, practically sashaying forward to him, throwing her arms around Robert's shoulders and hugging him like he's the only thing in the world that matters. There's pride in her doe eyes, the sparkle of celebration glistening amongst a look of fierce familial love that Robert has never been used to receiving, but it warms him inside like whiskey._

_"Seriously?" he chuckles, no hostility in his voice because honestly, it's impossible for him to be mean to Victoria. His arms embrace her back, his height engulfing her, and although it's quick, it's precious._

_The other guests stand and smile; over his sibling's shoulder, Robert spots Aaron, leaning against the kitchen counter, sporting a pint in his hand and a fond smile on his face. He hasn't gelled his hair as excessively as usual, allowing it to fall in soft, loose curls across his forehead, a look that Robert has always found especially gorgeous - it makes him want to run his hands through it, feeling like silk beneath his fingers. Chas stands beside him, decked out in devilishly bright red, and his excitable brother-in-law looks like he's about to devour the buffet that adorns the table. Even Liv's there, Aaron's hoodie drowning her figure, looking less enthusiastic than everyone else but still managing to crack a rare smile._

_Luckily there's no balloons screaming his age, nor are there any foil banners or cheesy decorations, both of which he's thankful for. No, instead it's wonderfully simple, looking like a usual Sunday dinner time with a few more drinks and a few more smiles. Nowhere near as bad as what he was expecting._

_Victoria twigs his relief, and looks up at him with a knowing smirk._

_"You should have more faith in me," she says, shoving him playfully. "This is just the beginning, y'know. We're having a karaoke afterwards."_   _A ripple of laughter crosses the room at the fleeting look of panic on Robert's face, spiking with Aaron. "Come on, food's nearly ready."_

_It seems like Vic's been slaving away in the kitchen all day, as there's plate after plate of colourful beverages emerging from the fridge, and while she and Adam arrange everything on the table (she slaps her husband on the arm more than once for swiping the finger foods), Robert approaches Aaron, who looks effortlessly casual in a blue jumper that Robert can't remember who it originally belonged to - they pretty much co-own every jumper in their drawers - but it brings out the colour of his eyes._

_"Thirty, eh?" is Aaron choice of greeting, complete with a small yet present smirk, and Robert just rolls his eyes._

_"Don't you start."_

_"You're getting old," he continues, clearly enjoying himself, and Robert can't help but smile in return._

_"Never heard you complaining." Now it's Robert's turn to smirk._

_"All right, you lot," Victoria calls, ushering everyone to the chairs positioned round the table. The food looks mouthwatering, a plethora of different party snacks and beverages that will last them all day and probably feed half of the punters outside, and just as Robert goes to walk over, he hears Aaron say, "Slow down, you might break a hip."_

_Robert looks back at his laughing boyfriend with a face that says Aaron will pay for all this later on tonight._

 

* * *

 

The candles are reducing themselves down to stumps, melting beneath the pink flames into lumps of liquid wax. Quarter to midnight. 

It's dropping chilly, night air seeping in through the aged bones of the Woolpack, and since Robert's clothed in just boxers and one of Aaron's old t-shirts that he picked up from the floor, it's the whiskey in his system that stops him from shivering; god bless whiskey. Relaxes your muscles, warms you up and spaces you out all in one or two quick glasses. He's always had a taste for the finer things in life.

Thirty.  _Thirty._ The number rolls around in his head. He wasn't sure he was going to  _make_ it to thirty at one stage of his life.

He's about to stand up and blow the candles out so he can head up back to bed, not wanting to leave Aaron alone up there, but just as he begins to shift from his comfortable position, the sound of heavy, sleep-clumsy footsteps tumble down the staircase. Looks like he's been beaten to it.

 

* * *

 

_"Vic, this is great," Rob grins as he tucks into a plate of food, not realising just how hungry he is until he started eating; his sister's culinary skills are certainly something for her to be proud of. She's almost as good as him._

_"Yeah, good job, babe," Adam joins in, showering his wife with compliments and causing her to scrunch her nose up and grin, batting her eyelids comically._

_"Am I gonna get this for my birthday?" Aaron pipes up as he washes down a bite with a gulp of Coke._

_"If I remember," Vic responds with a smirk, evoking a harmony of laughter from the family._

_Family. Robert has a family._

_He's always had a family, of course - he's aware of this; back in the day when it was him and his siblings, Jack, Sarah, then Diane, before things crashed and burned like the car that sat at the side of the road and smoked furiously. You could say that it wasn't just Max who died that day. But now he's here, and despite the lack of biological family beside him, there's Aaron, who is more than family to him now. There's Adam, who, as relentlessly irritating and foolish as he is sometimes, has been the light in Victoria's life that she desperately needed. There's even Chas. Robert's not entirely convinced he considers her 'family' just yet - they can just about stomach each other on a good day - but every time they're civil, every time they exchange a joke, or a smile, or something that can be considered a vast improvement to the state of their relationship one year ago, they both see the look of relief in Aaron's eyes. They both have Aaron at the top of their priorities, both of their worlds revolve around him, and it's drawn them closer than either of them could ever have expected. Liv... well, maybe, if her attitude changes. She'll take some warming up to._

_There's a noticeable difference in this atmosphere compared to the family dinners he usually gets sucked into. The proper Sugden family meals are usually stale, stagnant, palpable tension in the air and the blatant refusal to look each other in the eyes for longer than absolutely necessary. It usually ends in some distasteful comment being thrown over the dinner plates, either from Robert or Andy, followed by Victoria and Diane exchanging exasperated looks and huffing in their chairs._

_But here? It's light. It's airy, and it's humorous and Aaron's lazily playing footsie with him under the table and grinning into his drink. There's a collective chime of laughter when Adam pours out a round of shots and Liv tries to sneak one - she fails, but Robert can see she doesn't regret it when she observes the adults squirming in their seats and scrunching up their faces. Vic and Chas opt out of doing a second round, whilst the men happily participate._

_"Right, that's enough, lads," Chas says after they neck another round. "You're walking out of this pub on your own two legs."_

_"Oh, oh, before you go," Victoria suddenly leaps out of her chair, jumping like she's on hot coals and suddenly full of her typical energy. "Close your eyes, close your eyes!"_

_The smell of chocolate icing unfortunately blows the surprise, but Robert plays along, shutting his eyes and listening to the repetitive flick of a lighter._

_"She's got a cake, hasn't she?" he says quietly, leaning over in the general direction of Aaron._

_"How'd you guess?" Aaron replies, the smile audible in his voice, and Robert lets out a small, playful groan._

_"Vic, if I open my eyes and you've spelled out 30 in the candles -" he calls, not finishing the threat as he's distracted by the sound of Aaron, Chas and Adam snickering, and Victoria's hushed whispering. He's starting to grow slightly concerned when the minute in darkness starts to drag on a little, but then he hears a small announcement of triumph, followed by the order to open his eyes._

_The cake nestled in Victoria's arms is a relatively simple chocolate sponge, but her delicate touch and skills have made it look like a work of art; every ribbon of icing, every edge of filling neatened to perfection, the type of dessert that should be reserved for shop windows, not wasted on a casual birthday party. The candles are thankfully not arranged to spell out his dauntingly-high age, and each one flicker a different colour - pink, blue, yellow, orange - and bend slightly as she carries the cake towards him. Robert can practically sense what's going to happen next._

_"If you start singing-"_

_"Happy birthday to you," she deliberately cuts him off and bursts into song, causing Robert to sink back into his chair with tinges of embarrassment (he refuses to look Aaron in the face), but mostly adoration for the bundle of joy that is his little sister. "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Robertttt..." The cake on the table in front of him, Robert feels Victoria's arms wrap round his shoulders, embracing him again with a radiant grin. "Happy birthday to you." She pecks him on the cheek and reclaims her seat, egging him on with her eyes._

_"This is great, Vic," he smiles, a genuine softness to his voice and his eyes because this_ is  _amazing. It's everything he didn't expect to happen. "Thank you."  
_

_Aaron's smiling in the corner of Rob's eye, regarding his boyfriend (boyfriend!!!) with the doting, love-filled expression that Robert has only seen a few times and he cherishes it every time. Chas spots it too. Her grin gives her away._

 

* * *

 

"What're you doing up?" Aaron's voice is gruffer than usual, thick with sleep and fatigue as he stumbles into the living room, rubbing his eyes and squinting when he sees the candles. He looks soft, hair rife with bedhead and free from gel, scruffy and adorable and eyes glowing like blue orbs in the hazy pink light. Looking like a disgruntled puppy, he shrugs on a t-shirt he's carrying, struggling it over his head as he walks, blind and aimless. "I woke up and you'd gone. I thought you'd done a runner."

"Couldn't sleep," Robert replies, voice equally as relaxed and slurred as he tries to hide the cause for his looseness beneath one of the couch pillows. 

"You never normally have problems," Aaron murmurs as he walks over, slumping down on the couch next to Robert (and thankfully missing the chosen pillow); there's no reason for him to be awake either, right now. Robert suspects that maybe he's been ripped from his sleep again by a nightmare - a common occurrence - and instantly feels guilty that he wasn't there to comfort him like he usually is. Maybe he should've stayed and tried to sleep. "You're the roll-over-and-go-to-sleep type."

"Charming," Robert scoffs, before a smile spreads across his face and his hand finds its place on Aaron's shoulder. "Thanks for today."

"It were all Vic's doing."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't have been half as good without you." That triggers a smile from Aaron, a small one but there nonetheless, and Robert has this habit of always waiting for a reaction before he responds with one himself. His face hangs in this dopey, hopeful expression, paused for confirmation that he hasn't been taken the wrong way or rejected. 

"I'm sorry I didn't get you anything," Aaron says, his smile melting into an apologetic furrow of his brow, and Robert immediately leaps into reassurance. "It were kinda at late notice and I didn-"

"Shut up," Robert chuckles, his hand following up and down the small of Aaron's back. "I've had a good day. I've had a  _great_ day. That's more than enough."

"I wasn't sure if you were going to turn up at first," the younger man says, shuffling and repositioning himself so he's fully supported by the arms of the couch, his body facing the drunken birthday boy. "I knew you weren't looking forward to today, since you're turning  _thirty._ "

"All right, come on, get your gags out now," Robert sighs, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, and Aaron genuinely  _giggles_. It's an incredible noise, and Robert feels his eyes light up at the sound of it.

"There's no point, is there?" Aaron smirks, voice low and husky, and Robert can sense him leaning in. "You'll probably forget them all in five minutes."

"Suppose I deserved that." He barely manages to get the words out before Robert feels a pair of warm, familiar lips on his own, and the mix of alcohol blurring his coordination and the shock of Aaron making the first move freezes him up for a second - before he comes to his senses to prevent Aaron from getting the wrong idea. His hands seek out Aaron's face, falling into place once again like jigsaw pieces, and although it's over quick (Aaron breaks away when he gets a taste of the whiskey on Robert's tongue), it's just as tender as they always are.

"Bloody 'ell, Robert, how much have you had to drink?" Aaron frowns, again looking like a disgruntled puppy who's just tasted something bad.

"It's my  _birthday_ ," Robert protests. "I can do what I want."

"Not any more, it's not," Aaron points out, gesturing towards the clock on the wall that displays the time: three minutes past midnight. It's a weird feeling, realising that his birthday has come and gone, flown past like a breeze, but also gratifying. His shoulders fall as he exhales, the feeling hitting him like a ton of bricks, and Aaron sees it. "Are you coming back to bed? It's freezing down here."

"Yeah, let's go." Robert stands, wobbling slightly as he reclaims his balance, the whiskey causing his head to spin and swirl. Aaron's arm immediately flies up to support him, followed by some grumbled remark about a walking stick. They're at the foot of the stairs, Aaron ascending first, before he screeches to a halt and turns round, face a portrait of concern. "What's up?"

"I'm gonna have to fork out for a stairlift for you, now," he says dramatically, and Robert has the bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh. He glares at his boyfriend, who looks ever so beautiful in the dim light of the candles (candles! He darts back to blow them out, eliminating the pink haze with a breath for the second time that day), before shoving him, gently and playfully as to not knock the grin from his face.

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"You know I do."

Three hundred and sixty four days before they're back here again. Who knows where they'll be when that comes around. Robert doesn't know. He likes to think that Aaron will be there. He likes to think his family will be happy, that the tension will relieve long enough for them to at least try to repair some of the severed bonds between them.

He likes to think it'll be some place better. And that he'll be someone better.


End file.
